Levitator, Please Connect Me To Holy Ghost
by ImpossibleElement
Summary: That lift was really nothing special in and of itself. However, its high-end technology wasn't the reason why John Watson found himself taking that crappy lift every wednesday afternoon.


**Levitator, Please Connect Me**

 **To Holy Ghost**

They were strange happenstances, this conversations. It hadn't always been that way, of course. The first semesters of uni had gone by in a rush of textbooks, bad food and caffeine-induced-perpetual wakefulness that often came with trying to juggle medical school, a job and extracurricular activities that he doesn't know why he agreed to join. Needless to say, he had been oh-so-very thankful for the latter for a while now, ever since he accidentally came to use that fateful, almost out of order lift that took him up to the tenth level of the building where he does most of his after class volunteering.

That lift was really nothing special in and of itself. In fact, it left much to be desired in terms of efficiency and overall functionality. However, its high-end technology wasn't the reason why John Watson found himself taking that crappy lift every wednesday afternoon. The real reason was what he encountered the day he was running quite late and the lift he -and everyone else- often used was crammed by other people. He vaguely remembered he almost tripped over and stammered a few incoherent phrases; but what he recalled the most is the amused quirked-up eyebrow as a figure entered the closed space, the figure of who he has come to recognise as the most interesting person he has ever met. And that is how it began.

Sherlock was quite not what you would think anyone would ever be. He said he used the almost secret lift in order to avoid having to interact with his fellow classmates, whom he appeared to not be able to tolerate. His anti-social, but surprisingly funny attitude had captivated the blonde since the first exchange, and now they had a sort of routine going. Every wednesday at quarter to four, he would ride the shoddy lift with Sherlock and they would talk about something or other for the entirety of the 4 minutes it took to get from the ground level, to the eighth floor where Sherlock had his Advanced Crystal Structure Analysis course. Sometimes they would discuss opinions on various topics, or exchange a few amusing anecdotes. Never really straying to something very personal; at least in Sherlock's case, since John seemed to be an open book to the curly-haired boy since that first deduction, and he was so far gone for him that he was all in. Whatever it was, it was always the highlight of the older man's week, which was why he could not help feeling apprehensive about the quite empty elevator he found that day.

He waited for a few minutes, figuring maybe his unusual companion was just running late, which did not make an impressive amount of sense since the brunette was never even remotely late to his favourite class. He waited and tried to keep calm, he sat himself in the dubiously looking floor next to their meeting place, and even rode up to look around the classroom where ACSA was held, but he saw no curly head among all the other dull and unimportant students. After four o'clock had come and gone he figured there was no point in trying to hope for him to show up. He could be very busy, or perhaps he was coming down with something and he had simply no means of letting John know he would be absent. The future doctor would like to believe that Sherlock and he were friends, at least good enough acquaintances to inform the other _if_ they would be missing their weekly critique of their Uni's cafeteria. But due to the fact that they never exchanged phone numbers, he figured he would never know.

John arrived quite late to his responsibilities that day, and he was not able to concentrate in the least. Thinking about a possible cause why Sherlock never showed, and then proceeding to feel guilty and embarrassed at how childish it was to be that upset over someone he barely knew. This originated, of course, a mean cycle of worry and shame that left him very much exhausted once he finally was allowed to make his way towards his home.

However, what he found outside his dorm room was even more unexpected than meeting the most amazing person by chance. Because there, outside his door, was none other than Sherlock Holmes. Sitting vulnerably on the floor, clothes in complete disarray and sporting a very impressive black eye. He turned around to see him as soon as he heard him approach, and tilted his head with a half-hearted smile.

"Jesus!" John rushed to his side and quickly gathered him up. He opened his dorm room and let Sherlock limp his way inside before closing the door behind them.

"What happened?" The blonde asked, and the other looked as if he were trying to ignore the question, prodding his bruised eye experimentally.

"Sherlock!" The other demanded, making the younger man turned his head swiftly. Clearly he hadn't expected John to be so stubborn about it. "What happened?" John muttered as he sat down next to his friend and took his hand in his to halt the poking.

"My landlord is having an affair with his wife's sister." He said in lieu of an explanation. John was struggling to run quickly through his head what that might imply when the chemistry student continued. "Long story short: I was evicted."

At that, John couldn't help but let out a very surprising noise from his throat. Sherlock turned to look at him in accusation while the other laughed. He tried to snatch his hand away from the other's grip, but John was having none of it. Suddenly, the curly-haired man could notice the expression across his friend was not one of mockery, but of amusement, and he soon was roaring with laughter ass well. The both of them finding mirth among strange situations seemed to be their way of handling basically anything.

"You can stay with me, you idiot." John commented, while the giggles died down and he was left staring at the wide eyes of his friend while still holding onto his spidery hand. Sherlock seemed shocked by the casual offer, but the blonde could see an underlying layer of surprised delight beneath.

"That would be amenable." He responded with that tone John had come to distinguish as his 'I'm trying to act aloof but I'm actually a soft ball on the inside' voice. Feeling brave he lowered his other hand and was now clutching both of the other's extremities between his palms.

Smiling back at his new flatmate he said. "Just one question:" And Sherlock nodded in encouragement. "How do you know where I live?" He asked.

The brunette actually chuckled dismissively at that. "Please, John." He tiredly explained. "I've known since before the day I followed you to that frankly rubbish lift." And here were no more lines after that.

 **Author's note: Everyone, we're going live tonight.**

 **Inspired by Gerard Way's The Bureau.**

 **If you like my work, go read my other stories.**


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